


show me your teeth

by deliciously_devient



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom!McCree, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, M/M, Slow Burn, Sub!McCree - Freeform, Top!Hanzo, super spy mccree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: Build up a character. Inhabit it. Make people think you’re only one thing, and they’ll underestimate you every time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is something that's been stirring around the old noggin for a while. It'll be a mix of porn and character deep dives so. Stick with me, I'm sure it'll be fun.

_ You need a gimmick, kid.  _

 

The pieces of a Ruger SR19 sit in front of him, laid out in a random order; he’d shuffled them around with the cloth they were lying under after he’d blindfolded himself. He didn’t want to know where each piece was before he began. 

 

_ Whattya mean? And I ain’t no kid.  _

 

Even blindfolded, his fingers are swift as they assemble the gun. He needs only a split second to identify the piece and slot it into place. In five seconds from start to finish, he’s cocking the pistol with a self satisfied smirk.

 

_ Build up a character. Inhabit it. Make people think you’re only one thing, and they’ll underestimate you every time.  _

 

He begins taking the gun apart with expert fingers, flinging the pieces carelessly onto the table. The smell of gun oil and powder is thick in his nose but it’s familiar. Comforting. 

 

_ Why would I want people to underestimate me? I want ‘em running scared.  _

 

The sun is rising. He can feel strips of morning light flowing across his bare chest as assembles and disassembles the gun. Click, click, snap shuffle. He must have left his living room curtains open last night. 

 

_ Do you know how we won the Crisis?  _

 

It’s almost meditative, the way his fingers run over the metal. He’s thinking and not thinking at once, letting the activity swallow him whole, fill his mind to the edges. There isn’t anything but him, the gun in his hand he keeps tearing to pieces and reassembling. His fingers are all that exist, fluttering deftly over the pieces of a weapon that’s killed more men than years he’s been alive. 

 

_ Got a feeling you’re gonna tell me.  _

 

His fingers still when the sun turns from warm to uncomfortably hot, and removes the blindfold with a scowl. The sun is high in the sky now, glaring down and not for the first time Jesse thinks he would extinguish it if he had the capability. He gets up and closes the curtains with a huff, and finally stirred from his task his stomach makes known its complaints. 

 

_ Predictability.  _

 

He ambles over to his kitchen, and shoves a cold piece of pizza in his mouth from the previous evening, picking up his phone as he munched and scrolled through the news. There was a faint drumbeat in the back of his mind, a constant question he’d managed to put off answering for nearly two years as he’d gone on his personal mission fueled by the thought of ghosts on his heels. 

 

“Ya plannin’ on lurkin’ in the corner all day or are ya gonna sit down and have a proper conversation with me at some point?” he asks the room at large, and a loud, put upon sigh answers him. 

 

Sombra cancels her camouflage, leaning against his kitchen counter with a pout. She’s been there an hour, he knows; he’d been alerted the moment she’d entered his perimeter but she thought she hacked into his defenses flawlessly and he wasn’t gonna disabuse her of the notion. 

 

“You’re no fun, Jessito,” she whines dramatically. “How do you always know when I’m there?”

 

“Got sensitive ears,” he lies easily, and looks pointedly at the flip flops she’s wearing. He can see in her eyes that she takes him at his word; the honest outlaw facade he’s cultivated the past decade definitely works in his favor. 

 

“I have a tasty little tidbit for you,” Sombra says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Got the location of everyone’s favorite cyborg.”

 

“Oh?” Jesse feigns interest; he knows Genji answered the recall, but had headed back to Nepal to fetch his omnic monk. He’d gone dark after, however, and Jesse hadn’t thought it necessary to track him down. 

 

“I know where he’s headed,” Sombra leads, and Jesse knows this game. She’ll dance around the subject for another ten minutes, hinting and cajoling until he gives up a piece of information she deems worthy enough to share the intel she knows. Likely something he already knows, and if he’s right (he’s always right, Gabe made sure of it) she’s found out the location of the new Overwatch headquarters. 

 

They’d moved from Gibraltar to Blackpoint Madagascar, but left Athena running drones at Gibraltar to make it seem like they were still there. Jesse knows because he led them to it, machinated the necessity for them to go further underground for their protection until they’ve got the support of more than one government. He’s been dropping them hints since the recall began, vital intel to keep them afloat and a step ahead of Talon, and they think its Sombra. He let the trail lead back to her on purpose. 

 

Something happens, in that moment; he sees all the pieces of his future fall in place over the next five years. He continues down the path he’s laid out; picking up Overwatch and Blackwatch assets, revealing the locations of other Blackpoints for the reformed Overwatch to use, playing cowboy vigilante. Eventually he joins the new team, helps them get on the legal path in the shadows, and either dies on the battlefield or turns himself in as a gesture of good will. He’s an honest outlaw, after all. Jesse McCree, criminal with a heart of gold. A good shot who didn’t know no better when he got picked up from Deadlock. 

 

“Jesse?” Sombra says, snapping her fingers in front of his face. She’s been trying to get his attention for a minute or so judging by the irritation clear on her face, and suddenly, Jesse is tired of playing her game. Tired of playing Gabe’s game. 

 

He’s suddenly realizing he doesn’t have to. 

 

“My name ain’t Jesse, I ever tell you that?” Jesse says, pushing Sombra’s hand out of his face as he grabs the tablet lying on his kitchen counter. 

 

“Oh, I know,  _ Joel, _ ” she says with a smirk, and Jesse feels his own lips pull up in a smirk. 

 

“Joel Morricone, born 2050, to Alyssa and James Morricone, both died during the crisis leaving their son behind at an orphanage in New Mexico, later picked up by Deadlock,” Jesse says slowly as he taps away at his tablet absently. “I made that paper trail in 2064 in case anyone went lookin’. And you sure did, didn’t ya? I really gotta hand it to ya, I didn’t think anyone would actually go to the records office to look for the paperwork but well. I put it there to be found.”

 

When he glances up at Sombra, she’s wearing a genuine expression of shock on her face and she shakes her head slightly. 

 

“‘No, there’s no way you could have done that,” she denies and Jesse’s smirk widened. 

 

“Isn’t there?” He asks rhetorically. “But the real question is, when did you let your security get so sloppy,  _ Yasmine _ ?”

 

He watches with satisfaction as her eyes widen with true, genuine fear; she was just as careful planting Olivia Colomar as Jesse had been planting Joel Morricone, but there was a difference; Jesse was a trained spy and Sombra was self taught. He taps out the final code, and triggers her translocator, watching her disappear in a flash of purple light with a smirk. 

 

He moves quickly after, dressing in plain clothes before nabbing his bugout bag and leaving, grey hoodie covering his face as he walks out into the streets of Dorado. 

 

He leaves his hat on the table for Sombra to find. 

 

***

 

The first thing he does is get a hair cut. 

 

He lets the barber crop it shorter than its ever been; his beard is neatly trimmed, framing his lips and just an inch long. He barely recognizes the man in the mirror when it’s done. 

 

He likes who he sees. 

 

He flies out to his farm, out in Indiana; it was once Jack Morrison’s farm, but both he and his family are dead, officially, so Joel Morricone refurbished it. He’d had an underground safe house dug out by an omnic run construction company that’d agreed to have their memory banks erased after completing the project. It was a pet project of his, a fall back of sorts; the actual base wasn’t under the house, and he spends a couple days inhabiting the main farmhouse in case there’s anyone watching from outside his perimeter before he allows himself to leave the house on his hover bike and ride out to the entrance. 

 

Hidden amongst a formation of boulders a mile out from the farmhouse is the door to his base; he whistles, short and sharp, and the ground tumbled slightly as a ramp lowers and he drives into his motor pool. Several other vehicles sit, a couple of cars, another bike, a modified Humvee and a retired Overwatch mini jet. It was a little bigger than the bike he rode in on, and had the added benefit of being able to hit Mach 2. 

 

He ignores the vehicles in favor of walking to the door, and placing his hand in the gel pad. There’s a slight prick as it takes a blood sample, and he leans in as it reads his right eye. 

 

“Identity confirmed. Welcome home, Jesse,” a smooth, slightly accented voice greets . 

 

“Thank ya kindly, Hades,” Jesse returns, fondness coloring his voice as he walks into his entrance hallway. Another door greets him at the end of twenty feet and he gives up his palm and eye again before it swings open to reveal the interior. The carpet is lush, the one indulgence he’d allowed in an otherwise stark and utilitarian base. It has room enough to house up to twenty people, a war room, a survellience room, a kitchen and a common bathroom, as well as several store rooms containing clothes, food, armor and weapons. 

 

“Love the new look,” Hades remarks as Jesse drops his bag off in his personal room, pulling the closet doors back and running a hand over the clothes. “Going undercover?”

 

“Nope,” Jesse drawls as he fingers shirts, jeans, leather and pressed suits. “Had a real come to Jesus talk with myself.”

 

“Oh?” Hades’ lilting voice is amused, and not for the first time Jesse wonders about the extent the AI is actually sentient, but tables the thought for another day. “And what did you and Jesus talk about?”

 

Jesse snorts, shaking his head as he pulls a white button up from his closet, shedding his serape and t shirt. It’s silk, and the fabric feels soft and delicate against his skin. “‘Bout how I been operating on the orders of a man eight years dead and how stupid that is.”

 

Hades is silent for a moment, and Jesse’s ears pick up the quiet sound of cameras zooming in. “Does this mean we’re enacting operation Sky High?” he asks after a moment, and though he attempts to sound neutral Jesse can hear the excitement running through his town.

 

Jesse is quiet himself as he buttons his shirt, pulling on a silver pinstriped vest over his shoulders. He kicks off his boots, sheds the chaps and jeans that he’s been wearing for two days.

 

It feels like shedding a skin.

 

“No,” he says at length. “We ain’t quite ready to do that, just yet, and that wouldn’t get Akande or any of the other leaders. No, I’m going after that asshole myself.”

 

“McCree?” Hades says, and he sounds worried. Jesse pulls a matching set of pants on. The silk feels like water on his skin. The socks he pulls on are soft, thick, luxurious; the shoes he slides on are leather, custom made. He wore them once for an op three years ago.

 

“Call me Jesse,” he says, and taps his right temple three times. His right eye stings as his HUD comes online, and when Hades speaks again, Jesse can hear him in his head.

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Hades asks, and Jesse knows he’s concerned; Jesse’s programming -because that’s what it had to have been- ran just as deep as Hades’ did, and Hades was  _ all  _ programming. 

 

“Just peachy,” Jesse said, grinning as he drew left his personal room and made his way to the armory. There he threw a new belt around his hips, holstering a new handgun and several grenades; another holster went around his thigh with his favorite knife. He fingered the slick-looking catsuit on the worktable. “New project?”

 

“Oh you know me,” Hades says, and though he doesn’t sound worried anymore, Jesse can tell he’s tense; now that he’s activated his HUD, data from Hades’ servers is swirling through his mind, a white noise he can ignore easily. “I like to keep busy while you’re away. It isn’t quite ready yet, but I’d love for you to test it out when it is.”

 

“I’d love to,” Jesse says, smiling wide. “I been a bit busy too. I’m gonna take the jet, hit up Paris. Akande is gonna be there tomorrow, and I want him dead before I go home.”

 

“Home?” Hades asks softly.

 

“Back to Overwatch.”

 

***

 

“This was hardly the plan.”   
  


“Plan wasn’t moving fast enough for my likin’,” Jesse replies, slowly cleaning off his knife with a kerchief. Akande Ogundimu lies dead at his feet, head neatly detached from his body. Blood is slowly oozing from the wound, and Jesse frowns as he realizes he’s gotten himself quite bloody. Shame. He liked these shoes.

 

Moira gives a long, put upon sigh, steepling her fingers in front of herself. Jesse might have gotten a little blood on her. Or a lot, depending on how you looked at it. It was a lot.

 

“The bases aren’t all rigged. We don’t have enough information, and this is going to create a power vacuum we can’t control,” Moira bites out, and there’s anger in her eyes. She’s been meticulous these last years; she and McCree both have, planning each move critically, checking and double checking and sneaking. Jesse knows she’s put more on the line, constantly in the lion’s den, but she’s too bent on doing the things the way they planned.

 

The way a dead man planned.

 

“Look, Moira. We’ve been operating under a dead man’s orders for years. We’ve been constantly losing to Talon for the long game, and I’m fucking tired of it,” Jesse snarls, holstering his knife. He knows his eyes are glowing red, can see the reflection of the light in Moira’s eyes as he stares her down. “Hades has infiltrated their servers; in two hours he’s gonna dump the information on the web, and then Talon will have nowhere to hide, and  _ then  _ I’m gonna blow every single base we have rigged to Kingdom Come.”

 

He spins on his heel and uses his kerchief to wipe the still-warm blood on his face away as best he can. He needs a beer, and a fucking shower, in that order. 

 

“I’m going back to Overwatch to oversee them being reinstated as an organization. You can come with me, or you can stick to a dead man’s plan until it puts you in the ground.”

 

Another sigh. The click of her heels as she follows him out of the darkened hotel lobby. A car is waiting for them on the curb, humming quietly. He opens the door for her as sirens wail in the distance, smiling as she glares at him. He slides in next to her, and the car takes off, turning the corner just as the police arrive on the scene.

 

“I hardly think I will be welcomed at the newly reformed Overwatch,” she grouses, crossing her arms and scowling. “They will believe you were operating as a double agent more than they will believe me. I broke Angela’s arm last week.”

“You and I both know you could have killed her easily,” Jesse snorts, digging into the cooler attached to the side; he makes a soft noise of victory as he finds his favorite beer stocked.

 

“But  _ they  _ don’t know that,” Moira insists, grabbing Jesse’s beer out of his hands. He makes an offended noise as she flicks the cap off with her nails and grabs another out of the cooler. He sips his slowly, watching, amused, as Moira downs hers in own long swallow. 

 

“I’ll vouch for you,” Jesse offers, and she huffs, reaching over him for another beer.

 

“Whatever,” she harumphs, and Jesse chuckles.

 

***

 

Moira wasn’t wrong when she said she wouldn’t be well-received at Blackpoint Madagascar. Jesse himself was tackled by Reinhardt until Athena confirmed his identity, and he endured his apologies and watched with amusement as Moira was slammed in cuffs.

 

That was six hours ago; in the conference room at the Blackpoint, members of the reformed Overwatch sat, silent and still, taking in the information Jesse had laid out for them. They all looked a mixture of sick and disbelieving, but Jesse had files backing up everything he and Moira had gone over.

 

“Gabriel wasn’t the one who blew up the base in Zurich, then?” Angela asked softly, her eyes distant and sad.

 

“No,” Jesse said, softly, the old hurt rising in his chest. “No, we weren’t deep enough yet. We had no idea they were planning it. Had no idea how they were gonna frame it.”

 

“You can’t just kill people,” Winston said suddenly, after another long silence. “That...that isn’t how we operate.”

 

“I’ll kill who needs killin’,” Jesse says, low and dangerous; Winston recoils from him slightly, and there’s something fearful in the eyes of everyone at the table. “Akande committed atrocities you ain’t got no idea of, and he was untouchable. He escaped from one of the most secure prisons in the fucking world. He needed to be put in the grave, and as pure as you thought the old Overwatch was, it wasn’t. Overwatch killed, just the same as any military operation. Blackwatch maybe did the unsanctioned killin’, but Overwatch did the sanctioned killin’.”

 

More silence. Winston looks uncomfortable, but when he opens his mouth to argue, it’s Reinhardt who interrupts him.

 

“He’s right,” the crusader says softly, and his voice is heavy with the weight of years of regret. “I killed many in my time at Overwatch, for the cause of justice and peace, but I killed, nevertheless.”

 

“No amount of peace is ever achieved without blood spilt,” Torbjorn adds, and Jesse looks around, seeing many of the old guard nodding along. Even Lena, a little bubble of sunshine normally, has shades of grey on her face, and Jesse remembers that her guns aren’t just for show.

 

“Hundred of people died when you blew those bases,” Angela murmurs, head down. She’s staring at her hands on the conference table, but her eyes are thousands of miles away.

 

Jesse shrugs. “‘S why I did it,” Jesse says evenly. “None of you would have done it, and my shoulders are broad enough to hold up the guilt.”

 

“Who  _ are  _ you?” she demands suddenly, looking into his eyes, bright with tears and something like anger. “What did you do with the Jesse I knew?”

 

“I’m who I’ve always been,” Jesse asserts, lifting his chin and meeting her gaze. “Gabriel Reyes hollowed me out and made me into a weapon. It’s all I’ve  _ ever  _ been, and just because I played the part of dumb, charming hick with a gun doesn’t mean that’s what I  _ was. _ ”

 

Silence reigns again, and Jesse stands. “I did what needed doin’. The world knows what Talon did, now, and before long they’ll be clamoring to reinstate Overwatch. Ya’ll have done a good job of layin’ low and only showing up when you’d get the best press. The people are on your side, and with the Omnics rearing up in Siberia, I don’t think it’ll be long before they’re asking your assistance to help bring peace back to the region.”

 

Jesse looks around the table; Winston, Tracer and Genji won’t meet his eyes. Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Mei, and Angela meet his gaze, and he nods slowly. “Now, you can decide if you want to keep me around after all this. I’m a weapon, and I can be a powerful one in the right hands. I’ll let you sleep on it.”

 

He leaves the conference room then, to find his way to his old quarters. Moira doesn’t follow, and he can hear her speaking softly to Angela, apologizing about her arm.

 

He collapses onto his bed, letting out a long sigh. He doesn’t know what the future has in store for him, but he’s hoping he’s home.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Jesse wakes, as always, the moment the sun rises. He is awake all at once, no confusion or mugginess, and he scowls at his ceiling for a few minutes. He listens, but it doesn’t sound as though the rest of the base is up yet. 

 

He thinks he should get up and make breakfast, ingratiate himself to the others as much as possible. He still knows their favorite foods, knows how to make himself seem harmless after yesterday, a valuable member of the team. 

 

As soon as the thought rolls through his head he feels sick to his stomach; he didn’t come back here to manipulate these people, and yet here he is, doing exactly as he has done his whole life. 

 

He stays in bed as the sun rises, paralyzed by his own thoughts. Everything he can think to do -make breakfast, train, run sims, repair base functions- all of it can be used to manipulate the people on this base. Make himself invaluable, and therefore force them to accept his presence. 

 

He doesn’t know how to stop. 

 

“Perimeter breach,” Hades murmurs in his mind after two hours; the rest of the base is waking up, and Jesse has remained paralyzed and useless for most of the morning. “One assailant on foot, heavily armed. Camouflage prevents further analysis.”

 

“Let’s get to it then,” Jesse murmurs softly, and he’s in his gear in moments; the slick catsuit Hades engineered feels like silk on his skin, compresses to mold along his edges, skintight. He doesn’t feel claustrophobic in it, the material breathable and soft. He gasps softly when it connects to the port in his spine, new information suddenly flowing across his HUD, and he blinks as he takes it in. 

 

“Fancy,” he remarks, bolstering his guns and then making his way out into the lush jungle. “Make sure you alert the others to the breach; I’ll attempt to bring them in alive, so make sure there’s a cell ready.”

 

“Sure thing, Boss,” Hades replies, the edge of excitement running through his voice as Jesse checks his weapons. “Try out the active camo on the suit for me.”

 

Jesse shakes his head, but activates the camouflage from the corner of his HUD, and his skin tingles as he disappears from view. There’s no purple tinge to be found, and when he looks in the mirror, even his eyes can’t see the usual glimmer of air displacement. 

 

Jesse whistles, and he can feel Hades tittering with pride in the back of his mind. “Been digging into Sombra’s tech, huh?” 

 

“I like to think I’ve been improving it,” Hades says. Jesse doesn’t waste any more time, beginning his descent out of the base and into the jungle as the AI talks in his ear. “This actually shields from thermal and infrared. Widowmaker won’t ever see you coming again.”

 

“Y’really outdid yourself with this one,” Jesse murmured as he makes his way out into the thick underbrush of the jungle. He follows the blue line outlined in his HUD, his feet silent, the only indication of his presence the faint movements of plants as he walks through them. He comes up on the assailant after twenty minutes of stalking, locking eyes on the figure perched in the tree. 

 

He isn’t wearing active camouflage, but if Jesse didn’t have access to a thermal display he would be hard pressed to see the man in the trees. He is so still Jesse can scarcely see his chest rise and fall, binoculars held to his eyes. He must be gathering intelligence on the Blackpoint, and the thought of Talon potentially getting so close after Jesse had dealt such a blow to them makes his teeth grind. He considers his pistol as his hands move to the weapons at his hip, putting this man in the ground before he can become a threat. He discounts the thought almost as soon as he has it, however; he might have valuable intel and they need him alive to get it.

 

He draws the tranq gun he brought along and takes aim. He stills his breath, braces himself for the perfect shot at the junction of the man’s vulnerable neck, and squeezes.

 

Several things happens at once; Jesse pulls the trigger, the man turns suddenly in his perch to lock eyes with him, and despite the fact that Jess knows he’s functionally invisible he gets the distinct impression he is  _ seen  _ anyway. The man makes a dodge, but his faint yelp lets Jesse know his dart landed. 

 

The man leaps from the tree anyway, and is off like a shot; so quickly, Jesse knows he must have planned it far ahead of time, and he curses softly as he has to take off after the man. He keeps the tranq gun in his hand, though he is reluctant to fire it again; another shot could be too much, and result in a fatality, even if the man didn’t get a full dose the first time. He can hear the man crashing into trees however, and the chase ends with him collapsing, unconscious, and Jesse smirks as he approaches.

 

The man is Asian in appearance, with a well-groomed goatee and hair; he’s dressed in some sort of traditional gear, and has an intricate tattoo covering his left arm. Yakuza, perhaps, Jesse thinks, and quickly searches the man for weapons. He finds no less than six knives, two side arms and several smaller blades as well as a utility belt full of equipment in addition to the bow and quiver strapped to his back. Jesse leaves the weapons in a small pile, directing Hades to retrieve it with a drone before slinging the unconscious man over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

 

When he arrives at the holding cells, most of the recalled agents on base are there, save Genji and Zenyatta who were likely meditating at their favorite vantage still, varying shades of concern painted on the gathered faces. Jesse dumps the man in the cell nearest, engaging the energy barrier with a flick to the controls.

 

“Is he…?” Lena murmurs, her eyes full of suspicion and fear and Jesse feels...something, twist in his chest sharply.

 

“Tranq’d? Yeah he won’t be waking up for a while,” Jesse says, a bit more curtly than he thinks he should, but the nameless emotion swirling in his chest is making him unpleasant company. “Caught him about half a mile outside the base proper, conducting surveillance. Not wearing anything that identifies him as Talon or any government entity, but that don’t always mean anything.”

 

The group turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, and Genji, Lucio and Zenyatta all come into view. Lucio isn’t wearing his skates, making him seem even shorter than normal and Jesse smiles slightly at them. Genji is also without most of his armor, covered in a worn hoodie, and a strange expression crawls over his scared face as he catches the face of the man in the cell.

 

“McCree,” he says slowly as he stands in front of the cell, tapping the keypad to deactivate the energy barrier. “Do you mind telling me why shot my brother?”

 

Jesse blinks slowly; Genji  _ sounds  _ like he might be teasing, but he’s harder to read now. Before, when they were both Blackwatch dogs, he might have asked why he hadn’t killed Hanzo; before, he might have attacked Jesse for daring to lay a hand on his brother. Before, he was full of anger and vengeance and the occasional dirty joke. Jesse doesn’t know what to make of the man before him now, who jokes and smiles and dishes out wisdom.

 

“Security breach,” he says at length, with a slow, private grin; he appears to have made the right choice of words, as Genji throws his head back and laughs, gently inspecting his brother for damage. The man starts to stir, eyes flickering, and Jesse’s hand crawls to the tranq gun again, not quite at ease yet. He’s tempted to shoot the man again, knowing who he is. Genji was the closest thing McCree had had to a real friend in Blackwatch, the only person besides Moira and Gabe he was allowed to care about. He was full of fire and vitriol and not always kind or even tolerable, but he had revealed things to McCree about his past that had broken the spy’s heart over and over.

 

Shimada Hanzo wasn’t his favorite person in the world, and Jesse knew Genji was different now, had let go of the anger he’d held so close for so long but. Some grudges were hard to let go of. He’s almost sorry he decided to tranq him instead of taze.

 

“Shoulda told me he was comin’. I woulda put a bullet in him,” Jesse says mildly. “In a fleshy, non-essential part,” he amends at Genji’s sharp look. Genji huffs, not quite a laugh, but some kind of amusement, and Angela moves forward to inject Hanzo with a syringe. The man gasps, coming to life all at once and looking away wildly, scrambling back from Genji and the medic. He doesn’t calm even as recognition flies across his face.  

 

“I didn’t realize you were coming so soon, Hanzo,” Genji murmurs, palms up and as unthreatening as possible. Winston, Lena, Lucio and Angela have all backed up out of the cell, giving Hanzo as much space as possible; Jesse stays where he is, hand on the butt of his gun, staring down at the other Shimada with the meanest look on his face he can muster.

 

Hanzo meets his gaze, staring up at him, taking him apart with dark eyes; scanning for threats, assessing him. Jesse lifts his chin slightly, daring him. Hanzo looks away, eyes finding his brother’s face.

 

“I had not meant to reveal myself for a few days yet,” Hanzo said lowly. “I had wanted to make sure this was the right facility.”

 

“Regardless, I am glad you are here,” Genji says with such warmth in his voice, Jesse has to do a double take; he has never heard such warmth in Genji’s voice ever, let alone in reference to his brother, and for a wild moment Jesse wonders if the cyborg had been replaced by someone else.

 

Genji helps Hanzo to his feet, and Jesse watches in satisfaction as he pats himself down, frowning intensely when he finds nothing of his weapons or tools. He looks at Jesse, suspicious, and Jesse tips his head, smirking.

 

“Where is my gear?” he demands, voice sharp, eyes narrowed, and Genji puts a placating hand on Hanzo’s shoulder as he takes a step into McCree’s space.

 

“You must understand, brother, this is a Blackpoint, not a Watchpoint,” Genji murmurs. “Jesse is effectively the commander of Blackwatch in Overwatch’s recall, and he acted accordingly to a security breach. If you had given me warning you were coming, you would not have been greeted so.”

 

Hanzo says nothing as he stares Jesse down, and the spy grins, wide and dangerous, aa he meets the man venomous gaze. “I had your gear picked up by drones,” he says at length, well aware that everyone is watching their standoff with baited breath. “I’d be happy to take you to it, and show you around while I’m at it. To make up for draggin’ ya in like a crook.”

 

Hanzo’s eyes narrow further, but some of  the tension in Genji’s shoulders relaxes, and Jesse feels a pang as he realizes he’s convinced his friend he means no harm to his brother. Not enough to divert himself from the path he’s decided on, but enough to bring up this morning’s thoughts. He pushes them to the side and takes his hand off his gun, offering it to Hanzo.

 

“Jesse McCree,” he offers with his most charming smile. Hanzo stares at him for a moment before accepting his hand, his grip firm.

 

“Shimada Hanzo.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times ahead! Bottom McCree just so your warned. It is slow burn just. Emotionally.

Jesse makes good on his word; he  _ does  _ show Hanzo around the base, and really, he wants to get along with this guy. Genji is one of his best friends, after all; even stripped away of all his pretenses, he’d like to think he and the younger Shimada are still friends.

 

But. 

 

_ But. _

 

Jesse knows the anger and resentment he harbors in his gut for Hanzo Shimada will only grow worse, fester, if left unaddressed. And he may have made promises to an angry, distraught Genji years ago and well. If those promises go unfulfilled -as much as he thinks Genji doesn’t  _ want  _ them fulfilled anymore- then Jesse won’t rightly be able to live with himself.

 

So he shows Hanzo the base; he gets his hand print and blood entered into the system and he assigns him a room -officer quarters, since that’s what everyone is staying in these days- shows him the kitchen and puts his name on the chore chart. He doesn’t yet return his gear, since that is the leadup to his plan, and when they finally, finally make their way to the training rooms, where said gear has been stowed, Jesse has given a silent order to Hades to seal off the hallways leading there.

 

He doesn’t want to be interrupted.

 

“Got your gear in here,” Jesse says, entering the wide open space meant for sparring. He’d spent many hours here, getting thrown on this very mat; he can still see shuriken indents and bullet holes in the far corner from when he and Genji had gotten a little too rowdy one night. “‘Fraid it comes with a price, though.”

 

Hanzo, who had relaxed marginally throughout the tour, was immediately tense again, taking a few careful steps away from Jesse. His eyes are narrowed, expression thunderous, and there’s something so righteously proud about him that Jesse wants to grind under his boot.

 

“What do you mean, price?” he growls, low and dangerous, and the tone of it sends a thrill up his spine. Jesse faces the other man head on, grinning wide and feral, settling into a loose fighting stance.

 

“Ya gotta wrassle me for it,” he says, low and slow, voice dripping like molasses. Hanzo’s expression grows darker, and his teeth are bared in a snarl, fists clenched at his sides. He makes no move to attack.

 

“I did not come here to play childish games,” he snarls, and Jesse laughs, the sound of it crackling through the training room.

 

“This ain’t no game, darlin’,” he says, circling slowly; despite not being in a battle stance, Hanzo shifts his weight, following Jesse as he moves. Smart. “This is about ten years of anger and aggression I got building up against the man who cut down my best friend. You want a working relationship with me? We fight it out now, no holds bar.”

 

Hanzo’s face says he understands, as soon as Jesse explains; he shifts his weight, palms up and loose in front of him, stance more stable as he mimics Jesse’s slow circling. There is resignation in his eyes, but also something bright, burning. The thrill of battle.

 

“Do not expect me to go easy on you,” Hanzo warns, and Jesse’s grin widens; he isn’t smiling so much as he’s baring his teeth, and the same eagerness is apparent in Hanzo’s gaze.

 

The archer strikes first, fast and deadly, palm whipping out in a blow that would have knocked Jesse off his feet if he had landed it. He dodged, easily, and struck back, a knee to the gut, barely grazing Hanzo as he leapt back.

 

It was almost like they were dancing, once they really got started; glancing blows as they got in close to exchange kicks and punches, dodging and replying as though they’d rehearsed this a thousand times before. Hanzo was fast, deadly, economic in movement; but so was Jesse. He hit the mat more than once, but Hanzo was never fast enough to follow up his throw with a pin.

 

A glancing kick to the temple opens a cut on Jesse’s head, and he lets the blood run down his face, not bothering to wipe it away as he replies with a sharp punch to the gut that winds Hanzo before he can put distance between them. They circle each other again, Hanzo looking at Jesse with a new light in his eyes.

 

“You have skill,” he allows, and it almost sounds like it surprises him; Jesse only smiles. That only means Hanzo has made the same mistake everyone else has always made. 

 

“Y’ain’t so bad yourself,” he compliments, winking, before diving back into the fight.

 

Hanzo managed a sharp blow to the solar plexus; knocking the air straight out of Jesse’s lungs, and making him gasp sharply as he recovered enough to feint with his right, and then deck Hanzo with his prosthetic. The blow felled Hanzo, and Jesse dove in for a pin; Hanzo recovered enough to resist, but Jesse’s thighs were already around his waist and they weren’t coming off for anything short of a break.

 

He got several elbows to the face and another punch to the chest for his troubles, but he had Hanzo pinned with his legs good enough that he couldn’t get leverage to flip them. Blood was dripping from his face onto Hanzo’s pale chest, bright against his skin, and Jesse punches him once, sharply, to stun him long enough to grab his wrists up in his metal hand, locking the joints to keep them in place.

 

“God, that felt good,” he growls, panting, his HUD displaying his injuries in red behind his eyes; he has a couple fractures, a rib or two bruised up real nice, and he’s sure Hanzo is in a similar state. “Promised Genji years ago I’d fuck you up real good afore I brought you to him, if’n I ever caught up to you before him,” he explains, and Hanzo is still struggling in his grip, expression furious.

 

“‘Course, don’t think he’d be too thrilled about this now, come to think,” Jesse says casually, meanly increasing the pressure on Hanzo’s wrists as he continues to struggle.

 

“You’ve made your point,” Hanzo snarls, bucking wildly to try and escape. “Release me!”

 

“Don’t think I have, sweetness,” Jesse growls back, flesh fist curling, fully intent on bringing it down on Hanzo. He thinks he’d look good with a broken nose.

 

Just as he’s about to do it, though, he  _ feels  _ it. Hot against his thigh, Hanzo is hard, and his eyes widen, taking in Hanzo’s expression as he realizes Jesse has noticed. Arousal, hot and fluid as it crashes through him, nearly leaves him breathless. The full one eighty from anger to horniness nearly gives him whiplash but. He can work with this.

 

“Oh,  _ sweetness _ ,” he purrs, getting real close to Hanzo’s face, his eyes going dark. “Getting tossed around gotchu all riled up, does it?”

 

Hanzo doesn’t respond, but his cheeks flood with color, arousal and embarrassment turning him as red as a cherry. Jesse grins, wide and loose, slowly rolling his hips down, lining his ass up with the hot length pressed against him and reveling in the tremble that wracks Hanzo’s muscles.

 

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind workin’ out all this aggression more...productively,” he purrs, his flesh hand sliding up Hanzo’s waist, groping one pectoral and squeezing a bit meanly, pinching Hanzo’s nipple through his shirt. The scent of blood and sweat is heavy in the air between them, and Jesse rolls his hips again, his own cock starting to fatten in his pants.

 

“No!” Hanzo shouts, and Jesse freezes, stomach dropping as he immediately thinks he misread the situation. “Not, not  _ here, _ ” he hisses, looking around the wide, open room. He doesn’t know Jesse cordoned off the whole hall leading here, he realizes, and Jesse grins, grinding down once more before springing to his feet.

 

“C’mon then, sweetness,” Jesse purrs, helping the man to his feet. “I got the perfect place.”

 

Jesse leads Hanzo through the base halls, the archer’s hand hot and possessive on his ass the whole way. His eyes are dark with suspicion as Jesse makes his way through the base, and he can’t be goaded into more inappropriate touching in the halls. 

 

Jesse makes up for it by slamming him into the wall the moment the door slides shut in his room, inserting a thigh between the archers legs and wrapping his teeth around his throat. He sucks a deep, angry red mark into the flesh there, cock twitching as Hanzo shudders and sighs against him. His toes are barely brushing the ground from where Jesse’s got his legs spread over his hips, hands clenching at his shoulders rhythmically as he bares more of his throat to Jesse. 

 

He can feel the hot, hard length of Hanzo against his thigh, and the thought that his roughness is only spurring his new lover on makes arousal swirl in his gut. Hanzo tastes like sweat and blood, and the soft little cut off whines he’s making when Jesse’s teeth dig in deep are heady. 

 

“You like this, huh?” he growls softly, kissing up Hanzo’s neck to speak in his ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth meanly. “Like getting a little roughed up, put on your back?”

 

“I like your competence,” Hanzo murmurs back, gasping when Jesse’s metal fingers twist his nipple under his shirt, squirming in Jesse’s hold; he’s got no leverage but Jesse knows he could easily throw him off if he wanted. Their fight proved that. “Not many can beat me in a fight; such skill is...alluring.”

 

Jesse is a bit surprised by how honest sounding Hanzo is; he’s even more inclined to believe him because personal experience has taught him arousal is hard to fake convincingly to someone who is skilled at faking it. Hanzo is reacting beautifully under his hands, gasping and moaning at turns even as he stuffs his hand in his mouth to muffle the noise. 

 

Jesse tugs at the other mans clothes, eager to have all that chiseled muscle under his hands, and Hanzo catches on quick. He’s naked and being shoved back onto Jesse’s bed as the spy stalks closer. His eyes rake up and down Hanzo’s bared body, the cut muscle, the dark eyes giving him a come-hither that has his cock pulsing with want and god damn. 

 

Hanzo’s cock is  _ thick.  _

 

Jesse had never actually seen anyone with a cock as thick as a soda can, but he’s sure Hanzo’s would match perfectly, and his hole clenches at the thought of getting that monster inside him. Hanzo clicks his tongue, an impatient noise, and Jesse realizes he’s been staring for a while. 

 

“Are you planning on looking all day, or are we going to continue?” he asks sharply, and Jesse snickers as he pulls his shirt off, baring his chest, before toeing his boots off and kicking his pants away. He feels a flush of self-consciousness as Hanzo’s eyes sweep over his naked body; he knows he’s nothing compared to the other man, covered in hair and scars and other blemishes. His skin his swarthy, scars and old tattoos crawling over the surface, telling the story of a hard life. He’s muscled, sure, but not as cut as Hanzo. 

 

Hanzo’s hands are on him as soon as he straddles the man’s hips, however, the self consciousness blown away as he takes in the hunger apparent on Hanzo’s face. He dips his head down, takes the other mans mouth in a harsh kiss. Their teeth clack, and Hanzo uses his tongue so forcefully it feels like he’s trying to choke him. The taste of blood gets passed back and forth as teeth nick lips and tongue. It’s bloody and painful and it makes anticipation curl tight in Jesse’s gut. 

 

“Gonna fucking ride you into the sunset, sweetness,” Jesse growls, fumbling for the lube in his night stand drawer, pulling out a condom as well. 

 

Hanzo doesn’t respond verbally, instead squeezing Jesse’s ass harshly, a fingertip teasing the clench of Jesse’s hole. He takes the lube from Jesse, coating his fingers before meanly shoving one into the tight heat, making Jesse gasp and arch, hips rolling in an attempt to get the digit deeper. Jesse has a brief thought that he shouldn’t bottom; it makes him too loose, too needy, but he shoves the thought away. 

 

He’s denied himself enough things already. 

 

It isn’t long before Hanzo has three fingers pumping in and out of Jesse’s hole, lube dripping down his wrist as he stretches the tight space for his cock. His eyes are dark and filled with want as they watch Jesse’s face, and the spy can’t help the soft, helpless little noises slipping from his throat. Hanzo knows what he’s doing, fingers teasing his prostate every few moments, driving Jesse up the wall. 

 

With an impatient noise, Jesse knocks Hanzo’s hands away, grabbing the base of his cock to steady it as he presses the head against himself. Hanzo’s hands go to his hips, clenching, as Jesse lowers himself, inch by agonizing inch. 

 

It’s so  _ thick.  _ Jesse doesn’t think he’s ever been this full, the sheer girth of Hanzo’s cock threatening to stretch him beyond capacity, but he doesn’t slow or stop. Before long, he can go no further, and he feels fit to burst. He looks down at his stomach, half expecting to see the outline of Hanzo’s dick in his guts, whining helplessly as he clenches around the hot length inside him. 

 

“You  _ love  _ this,” Hanzo accuses, and his voice is rough with arousal as he bucks his hips, making Jesse gasp sharply and clench around him again. 

 

“Y’gotta nice cock,” Jesse growls, trying to take back some semblance of control as he rolls his hips, beginning to ride Hanzo with jerky motions. He can’t possibly admit to Hanzo or himself how much he fucking loves the feeling, of being stuffed to the brim, fucked full and whining. 

 

He knows he must look a sight as he earnestly starts to bounce, hands braced on Hanzo’s chest, sharp little whines exiting his mouth, hanging wide open and drooling unashamedly. Nothing else can enter his mind just then, the feeling of the cock deep in his ass taking over every thought, sensation and feeling. He knows he’s making embarrassing noises, knows his eyes are crossed in pleasure, knows his cock is leaking a steady stream of pre and he hasn’t even touched it once. He knows all these things and yet he can’t help himself, can’t prevent any of it. 

 

Hanzo’s hands trace the muscles of his chest, flitting over scars gently, pulling at his nipples meanly, discovering what makes Jesse sigh and moan. His hips are steady as they meet Jesse’s thrusts, eyes blown wide as he keeps his gaze directly on the spy’s face. His scrutiny is intense, making Jesse all the more aware of the way he’s moaning like a bitch in heat, mouth open and tongue lolling. 

 

His pace must be unsatisfactory, because after a few moments, Hanzo flips them; the motion is so quick and so smooth it doesn’t even dislodge his cock from where it’s found a home in Jesse’s ass, and it makes Jesse feel helpless, being tossed around so carelessly. He loves it. 

 

His legs are spread wide around Hanzo’s hips, and the archer pulls his knees up, pressing them forward until they’re level with Jesse’s shoulders; he holds them there, his face inches away as his eyes bore into Jesse. The position forces Jesse’s hips to tilt, offering up his hole more easily to Hanzo’s cock, and makes gaining any leverage nearly impossible. He wouldn’t be able to buck Hanzo off like this if he wanted to. He’s utterly at the other man’s mercy. 

 

“ _ Please, _ ” Jesse begs, unashamed, as Hanzo settles, not moving yet, his hole clenching rhythmically around Hanzo’s cock as if trying to entice him to thrust again. 

 

“Greedy thing,” Hanzo murmurs in his ear, thrusting slowly, teasingly, just to hear Jesse whine. “Stuffed full and you still want more. Coming apart from my cock.”

 

Jesse whines, squirming, trying to get Hanzo to thrust, to give him what he wants, desperate now. He feels like he’s seconds away from coming, wants to feel Hanzo pounding into him, mewling helplessly. 

 

Hanzo seems to lose his patience with teasing, however, and he begins to pound into Jesse with short, harsh thrusts that brush his prostate deliberately. Jesse is nearly screaming, hands scrambling for purchase as desire curls tighter and tighter in his gut. The sound of their coupling his slick and lewd on each thrust, Hanzo’s soft grunts drown out by Jesse’s howling. 

 

“ _ Slut _ ,” Hanzo whispers in Jesse’s ear, biting his throat meanly and sucking a dark mark into the vulnerable flesh, and that’s  _ it.  _

 

Jesse’s coming, untouched, mouth open on a soundless scream, his breath stolen away by the intensity of it, vision whiting out. He must lose consciousness for a few moments, because when he opens his eyes again Hanzo is over him, stripping his cock furiously over Jesse’s face, staring down at the spy intensely. 

 

“Open,” he commands, and Jesse is helpless to obey, mouth falling open wide, and Hanzo pushes the tip of his cock into the warm, welcoming opening Jesse has provided. It tastes vaguely of latex and salty bitterness, but Jesse is floating, uncaring, as hot spurts of come flow into his mouth. 

 

It’s a lot, enough that it leaks over the corners of his mouth and into his beard, and he swallows once before opening his mouth again, lapping lazily at the twitching cock, taking in the smell and taste, sucking the head when the come stops flowing. 

 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Hanzo swears, and his cock is starting to soften, but he pushes further into Jesse’s mouth anyway, staring down at the lax, peaceful expression on his face. Jesse allows the intrusion,  sucking absently as his lips are stretched around the thick length, breath slow and even as he swirls his tongue around. He’s floating, mind calm and relaxed, no thoughts buzzing around the back of his head, content. He’s just  _ feeling,  _ the taste and smell of the cock in his mouth taking up all the space in his mind. He’s content to exist. 

 

He makes a soft noise of protest when Hanzo withdraws, collapsing beside Jesse with a wounded noise, muscled arms coming up to pull Jesse in. He makes more soft, content noises as he snuggles into Hanzo’s side, eyes closing as he comes down off his high. 

 

Slowly, his thoughts return to normal; he extracts himself from Hanzo’s grip, stretching luxuriously, appreciating the soreness that comes from being well-fucked. 

 

Hanzo is still staring at him with intensity, as he has been throughout their encounter, and Jesse winks at him. 

 

“Well,” he says at length. “I’m much less inclined to put a bullet in you. It’d be a damn shame to rid the world of such a lovely cock.”

 

Hanzo snorts, laughing shortly, and the sound is pleasant; his voice is deep and rich, and while Jesse doesn’t think he’ll ever  _ like  _ Hanzo, he’s much more inclined to be lenient, now. 

 

“It is good to know you enjoy at least that attribute,” Hanzo says after his laughter has died down, and he looks at Jesse seriously. “I appreciate your honesty. I expected a far worse welcome from Genji’s friends, and knowing he has someone so dedicated protecting him is a comfort.”

 

Jesse stares at Hanzo’s face, looking for deception but finding none; he appears quiet, pensive now, and while Jesse isn’t inclined to trust him, he thinks that Hanzo is genuine. 

 

“Genji is my best friend, as far as I was allowed to have a friend,” Jesse says, voice raw with emotion. “And I might feel more settled around you, but if you set a toe outta line. If you ever hurt him again, I’ll put you in the ground.”

 

Hanzo doesn’t look perturbed by this at all, and nods in agreement. “If I hurt him again, I want you to.”

 

Jesse believes him. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

A month passes, and Hanzo settles into the Blackpoint. He rarely sees Jesse outside of meetings, though not for lack of trying. The man never seems to be in his quarters, and while his paranoia might tell him he is avoiding Hanzo specifically, conversations with Genji and, surprisingly, Mei, whom he’s struck up a fast friendship, reveal the man is a ghost to everyone. 

 

They start running training sims on the refurbished training room, now fully equipped with bleeding edge hardlight tech to make the simulations even more realistic. Jesse joins them after the first few disastrous sims where the teams were incredibly unbalanced. He divides them up into two equal teams based on skill and weapon choice, and pits himself and the other highly skilled assassin types with and against each other in equal measures. 

 

Even with the addition of the gunslinger to sims, he is still elusive, and it’s nearly two months into his stay that he catches up to the man, completely on accident. 

 

He is exploring the high catwalks in the aircraft hanger when he catches the familiar scent of marijuana, and follows his nose to find Jesse McCree sitting with his legs dangling, lips curled around a joint. 

 

“How scandalous,” he remarks, his lips curving up in a smirk. Jesse glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and his expression is far more relaxed than he has seen it thus far, pupils blown out. 

 

“Y’gonna narc on me or what?” he snarks, and Hanzo sits on the catwalk near the other man. 

 

“Not if you share,” he teases lightly, and Jesse snorts, handing over his joint and mumbling about extortion. Hanzo scoffs and neatly plucks the joint from Jesse’s fingers, taking a long drag and holding the acrid smoke in his lungs. 

 

He coughs it out, making a disgusted noise as he does so and scowling at the joint in his hands as if it had done him a great offense. 

 

“What kind of second rate skunk weed is this?” he exclaims, and Jesse’s relaxed face darkens with a scowl. 

 

“Give it back then, your fucking  _ highness, _ ” he growls and reaches for the joint. Hanzo keeps it out of his reach and stubs it out before tossing it below, out of reach. 

 

“I can’t in good conscious allow you to smoke that,” he says loftily. “Come on, I have high quality Purple Rain in my rooms,” he commands, dragging Jesse up by his wrist. To his surprise, the man comes easily, though Hanzo knows from experience he holds great strength in his arms. A Jesse McCree unwilling to move is one that isn’t going to move. 

 

It satisfies something in Hanzo’s chest that Jesse follows him easily. 

 

He herds Jesse onto his couch, and roots around his drawers until he finds his own stash. He considers the mushrooms sitting innocently by his bong, but ultimately decides that isn’t the kind of high he’s pursuing tonight. He sits beside Jesse once he’s retrieved his equipment, and begins packing the bowl effeciently. 

 

“Never took you for a smoker,” Jesse drawls, and his accent is slower, lazier, his eyes half lidded. Hanzo desperately wants to put his hands on him, the memory of their coupling when he first arrived still hot in his gut. He can admit, at least to himself, that Jesse McCree has bewitched him. He is deliberate, strong, cunning, and can put Hanzo on his ass in a fight. He’s smart, dangerously so, a summer storm that Hanzo wants to get lost in. 

 

“Please,” Hanzo snorts. “I’m almost always smoking. Dr. Ziegler has given me several lectures about lung health already.”

 

Jesse chuckles, low and amused, and the sound of it curls around Hanzo’s ears and into his chest, wrapping around his heart like an old lover. He wants to hear the noise more, again and again, for as long as he is allowed to. 

 

He knows it is dangerous to be so attracted to someone like McCree. He has shown himself to always be three steps ahead, of Talon, of his teammates, of their enemies. Jesse McCree is a one man army, a cold calculating mastermind who takes no prisoners. He could kill Hanzo, easily, and it’s likely he would never see it coming. 

 

He does not care. 

 

When he has packed the bowl to his satisfaction, he hands the bong to Jesse along with his lighter, receiving a quiet thank you. He watches Jesse put his mouth the the rim, light, inhale. He knows from experience that the smoke is thick and heavy, almost sticky in your lungs, but McCree doesn’t even flinch as he breathes deeply.

 

He coughs once when he blows the smoke out, and then passes the bong to Hanzo, and the archer has to admit he is impressed. Even Genji, who smokes almost as much as Hanzo these days, coughed up half a lung when first partaking Hanzo’s private stash. He likes his weed thick, sticky and almost sweet, and not many can handle the strength of it. 

 

He shouldn’t be surprised Jesse is one of them. 

 

They’re quiet as they pass the bong back and forth, but the silence is companionable. Hanzo can see the set of Jesse’s shoulders relaxing moment by moment, his mouth becoming wider as he grins. Hanzo puts on a movie, a low effort comedy of some sort, and they laugh at the dumb humor and slapstick.

 

Somehow, while they are watching and smoking and eating (Hanzo’s stash of Pringles doesn’t stand a chance) they move closer together until Hanzo is pressed against Jesse’s side ankle to shoulder. He revels in the warmth the sharpshooter is giving off, unabashedly leaning his head against the other man’s broad shoulder. He rubs his cheek along the jut of it absently, like a cat seeking affection. 

 

Jesse moves his arm so that Hanzo can rest in the crook of his shoulder, and Hanzo all but purrs as he snuggles closer.

 

“You’re so  _ warm, _ ” he enthuses, and Jesse chuckles. The sound is rich and dark, close to Hanzo’s ear, rumbling through him in that odd way sound rumbles when he is thick in the fog of his inebriation. Jesse’s shirt is soft, and he continues to rub his face along it, humming softly as he does so, enjoying the play of fabric over hard muscle against his cheek.

 

“Hey,” Jesse murmurs, and Hanzo meets his eyes with a small, satisfied smile. Their faces are inches apart, their breath mingling, and Hanzo watches as Jesse’s eyes flicker to his lips and back. He tips his chin up slightly, and then they are kissing, slow, languid presses that feel like velvet. Hanzo sighs softly into it, curls closer. He’s entranced by the feel of Jesse’s lips on his, the slick slide of their tongues, the taste of weed and salt shared between them.

 

He isn’t sure how it happens, but he’s in Jesse’s lap now, his arms wrapped around those broad shoulders. Jesse’s broad hands are on his hips, fingers flexing as they kiss. Hanzo runs his hands up the other man’s chest, cupping his pecs, finding his nipples through the fabric before tugging impatiently at it. They part for a moment, Hanzo tugging Jesse’s shirt off over his head, shivering when Jesse does the same to him. They are shirtless, touching each other slowly without intent. Jesse’s eyes are dark, pupils blown, focused on Hanzo in a way that makes heat curl in his stomach. 

 

He leans back in to kiss, misses Jesse’s mouth and hits his jaw and becomes fascinated by the play of hair and muscle on his jaw and neck. He noses along the curve of Jesse’s throat, kissing and biting, soothing the sting away with broad strokes of his tongue. Jesse is making these small little noises in his throat, breathy whines and groans that make Hanzo realize he is hard and aching. He ignores it in favor of exploring more thoroughly, his tongue following the line of muscles down Jesse’s throat and chest. He finds one nipple, bites down harshly to hear Jesse’s sharp gasp, before soothing it with his tongue. Jesse is panting now, his fingers in Hanzo’s hair, knocking his ponytail askew to curl in the soft strands. He isn’t guiding or demanding, just holding on, body open and relaxed under Hanzo’s assault.

 

The archer moves to the other nipple, not wanting it to feel left out, laving it gently and sucking it to a hard point. He nibbles it, sucks a bruise just next to it until it is deep purple, throbbing and angry, Jesse’s moans filling the room. As Hanzo continues his exploration downward, he notices that Jesse is also hard, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans, a wet spot clearly visible where the tip is, and he licks his lips. Suddenly, he wants nothing more than to suck that straining cock, and his fingers are sure as he undoes Jesse’s pants.

 

He pulls the straining member from its prison, licks the sticky tip and moans at the taste of salt on his tongue. Jesse groans and his cock twitches in Hanzo’s hand, and the archer takes a moment to run his cheek against it, reveling in the soft feel of steel over velvet. Jesse whimpers, and his eyes are pleading when Hanzo looks up, and he takes pity on him. His cock is nearly purple with want, and it jerks as Hanzo seals his mouth over it.

 

He moans as he takes Jesse further down his throat, enjoying the heft of it over his tongue, exploring each vein carefully as he begins to bob slowly. Jesse’s cock isn’t a monster, but it is of considerable length, and Hanzo gags each time he takes him fully, his breath cut off as he chokes himself. Jesse’s fingers flex in Hanzo’s hair, but he never shoves, and Hanzo rewards him by moaning loudly when he takes Jesse to the hilt.

 

The man is squirming under Hanzo, and he feels powerful as he sucks and licks and gags, knowing he has such an intimate part of Jesse in his control. This powerful man is laid out in front of him, whimpering and moaning, at Hanzo’s mercy. He’s always loved sucking cock, but this is the first time he’s ever felt in control while blowing someone, like they would give him anything, do anything with his lips around their cock.

 

Hanzo increases his pace a bit, just to hear Jesse’s whines, strokes with his hand what won’t fit easily in his mouth. Jesse chokes out a warning, curling over Hanzo, and the archer swallows his orgasm down greedily. It’s bitter, salty, filling his mouth with warmth and he doesn’t let a bit of it go to waste. He sucks until Jesse begins squirming in discomfort, lays his head on the man’s thigh and looks up at him. His lips feel swollen and bruised, and Jesse is gazing at him with such adoration it makes his cock throb.

 

“Gimme a minute, and I can do you,” Jesse pants, licking his lips, and Hanzo shakes his head. 

 

“No, no, just let me…” he trails off, positioning his hips just right. His cock lays against Jesse’s shin, and he ruts against the space, closing his eyes, mouth open. The scent and taste of Jesse make him shudder and convulse, and it’s moments before he’s shuddering, coming in his pants like a fifteen year old on his first date. It’s blissful, a moment of pure feeling, his arms tightening around Jesse’s thighs. He knows he will feel disgusting later, with the mess he made in his pants, but he doesn’t care.

 

Jesse is staring at him in amazement, and Hanzo crawls up his chest, seals their mouths together clumsily to share the taste of Jesse still on his tongue. He’s met eagerly, Jesse’s hands roaming his back and ass, squeezing liberally and making another thrill of arousal run through Hanzo.

 

“Come to bed,” he urges, and Jesse follows him easily. They undress completely, wrap around one another tightly. Kisses are languid and messy, slow, not seeking anything but closeness. Hanzo feels he could kiss Jesse forever, the haze of his high gentling their touches, making everything seem closer, more intimate.

 

He isn’t sure when he falls asleep, but he wakes alone. He tries to pretend it doesn’t sting. He fails.


	5. Chapter 5

Jesse has a problem.

 

It’s about five foot eight, has a crippling addiction to strawberries and a laugh that sounds like water flowing over rocks.

 

_ Don’t ever let yourself fall in love, mijo. It’s not worth it. _

 

He’s been avoiding Hanzo since the last time they were together, and he knows Hanzo knows that. Hell, he’s been avoiding most people, even Genji, who he actually  _ wants  _ to be around. He doesn’t know how to act around them, not without using the skills ingrained into him for decades to  _ force  _ them to like him. 

 

He thinks he’s always had imposter syndrome, but it was easy to ignore when he knew he was faking it for the mission, for the plan. He was playing his part in the long game, wearing his persona like a cloak, turning up the Southern hick charm to 11 when it was maybe a 4 naturally. It was easy when everyone was a mark, when he was doing his best to fool Reyes, who  _ knew  _ he was faking. The pride he felt when it would work, when his mentor would trip up just a second, slotting him into the same box everyone else did without thought.

 

Jesse’s been pretending so long he doesn’t know how to be genuine.

 

He’d laid there that night, in Hanzo’s arms, and wondered what it would be like to let himself have that. To take whatever they had to wherever it was leading, to have more soft kisses, more lazy sex, maybe even take Hanzo out. Treat him like the king he deserved to be treated as.

 

The thoughts are chasing themselves around in circles, and Jesse groans, flings the bottle in his hand away violently and throws himself back. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and screams, a low, growling thing with passion and little volume.

 

“Tell me how you really feel,” a light, robotic voice lilts, and Jesse jumps. Genji is there, in his little overhang outside, a place you have to know exists to even begin to get there. He’s not wearing his visor, his scarred face not revealing anything about his feelings.

 

“Should you be out here in the humidity without your respirator?” he asks, concern coloring his voice.

 

“Angela replaced my lungs with cloned ones last year,” Genji says dismissively, sitting beside Jesse, bumping their shoulders together. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he adds, no inflection, no hint of how he’s really feeling in his voice. Genji before could never hide how he was feeling, especially with his visor off; he was full of anger and lust and sorrow in equal measure, a volatile weapon ready to go off at any moment. He was easy to read but hard to please.

 

Jesse doesn’t know how to treat this newer, calmer version of Genji.

 

“Ain’t good company,” Jesse says, flopping back listlessly so he doesn’t have to look at Genji’s face. Genji turns to face him, dashing those hopes against the sand. He isn’t sure how to explain to his best friend that he’s a fraud; is afraid if he does, he won’t be able to think of him as his best friend anymore.

 

“I find that hard to believe,” Genji says lightly, and then he is quiet. Jesse doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. Genji seems content to watch out over the trees, breathing quietly, his face peaceful. The moment stretches, long, endless, and it begins to itch under Jesse’s skin. All the things he wants to say, all the things he doesn’t know how to express are bubbling up in his throat, and he isn’t sure he can contain them.

 

Isn’t sure he wants to.

 

“I had sex with Hanzo,” he blurts, which isn’t what he wanted to say  _ at all,  _ and he feels his face flush bright red; he hasn’t blushed involuntarily in  _ years,  _ and he’s doubly mortified by it now.

 

“Ah,” Genji says, arching one fine eyebrow with a slight smirk. “Thank you, for being the second one to tell me.”

 

Jesse’s face heats further, and he looks away from Genji. “Sorry,” he mutters, horrifically embarrassed, his stomach twisting into knots.

 

“What for? Did you force yourself on him?” Genji asks mildly.

 

“What? No!” Jesse snaps, anger flaring hot and harsh in his chest. 

 

“Then why are you sorry? You’re both adults, and are allowed whatever company you desire from each other.”

 

Jesse isn’t sure if Genji is genuine or not, and he stares up at the sky through the trees, jaw clenched. He’s not sure how he feels about Genji’s -approval? indifference?- to his relationship with Hanzo. 

 

“I...don’t know how to talk to anyone, anymore,” Jesse says after a long stretch of silence, quiet, hesitant. 

 

“You never seemed to have that problem before, my friend,” Genji replies, and Jesse’s chest twists painfully. 

 

“It never mattered this much before,” he says, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. Anxiety is rising in his chest like a viper preparing to strike, and he hates it. “It was okay before, because the goal was to get everyone to like me. I don’t even know how to talk to  _ you _ anymore, let alone anyone else.”

 

“We are talking right now,” Genji points out, his voice colored with amusement. 

 

Jesse lets out a frustrated snarl and sits up quick enough to make himself slightly dizzy. He points a finger in Genji’s face. 

 

“You don’t  _ understand, _ ” he snarls. “Jesse McCree is a  _ fake.  _ I was never Jesse McCree! He’s some hick cowboy I made up because Reyes told me I needed to play a character even around him! Everything I’ve ever said or done or acted on has been behind that filter, that  _ façade _ , and I don’t know how to be a real person!”

 

Jesse is panting by the end of his rant, and Genji staring at him placidly, unmoved by his outburst, and slowly holds out his hand. 

 

“I am Shimada Genji,” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief, scarred lips pulled into a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. What is your name?”

 

Jesse scoffs, shaking his head. “It can’t be that easy,” he says, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders. He straightens himself when he remembers that pose is supposed to project vulnerability. 

 

“But it can,” Genji says mildly, wiggling his fingers. “You have always been a real person, my friend. I have always known you are smarter and more capable than you put on. You are also kind, compassionate, and caring, and whether or not you think it was an act, you have always been a good friend to me.”

 

Jesse shakes his head and closes his eyes. He  _ wants  _ to believe Genji, wants to think it’s that easy to slough off the façade he’s been wearing for so many years and just  _ be _ , but he’s afraid. Afraid everyone will see him for the fraud he is. 

 

“I ain’t any of those things,” he protests softly. 

 

“Oh?” Genji says, arching an eyebrow. “Then who stocked this base with my favorite tea before we arrived? With extra peanut butter in the rations, with hypoallergenic bedding? It certainly wasn’t Hades. And I know that you never meant to stay here, not for another year at least but you broke with the plan. You went against Reyes in death, and ended up expediting years worth of work.”

 

Jesse is silent, wrapping his arms around his stomach and staring at his crossed legs. He  _ did  _ break with the plan, because he grew impatient with its slowness. He couldn’t stand it anymore, knowing he could accelerate the fall of Talon with a few swift and brutal strikes, and that had to count for something, right?

 

“I...I don’t know what to do, now,” he admits, swallowing hard. “I don’t know who I am without the plan.”

 

“You have time to figure it out, now,” Genji says gently, putting one cool hand on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse leans into the contact, pulling his friend into a hug that’s readily received and reciprocated. He shudders, sinks into it, sniffling softly. 

 

“You don’t hate me?” he asks softly after a moment of silence. 

 

“Of course not,” Genji says gently, pulling back and smiling at Jesse.  “And I look forward to getting to know you all over again.”

 

****

 

Hanzo has just stepped out of his shower when there is an urgent knock at his door. He calls for them to wait, cursing softly to himself as he fumbles around for his robe, roughly wringing his wet towel around his hair before answering. 

 

Standing in his doorway, in a worn long sleeve shirt and sweats, eyes big and filled with sorrow, is Jesse McCree. He shuffles a bit, not quite meeting Hanzo’s eyes, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Hanzo arches an eyebrow, unsure if he should be irritated with the man or not. He’s been avoiding Hanzo, rather efficiently, and he has to admit it hurt. If it weren’t for his talks with Genji, he might have put an arrow in the other man’s ass. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Jesse blurts after a moment of tense silence. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been going through some trouble, and I went and took it out on you when you ain’t been nothing but kind and I’m sorry.”

 

“Come in,” Hanzo says after a moment, stepping aside to allow the man past. Jesse seems hesitant, but obeys, and Hanzo leads him to his small living room, and they sit on the couch. 

 

“I am not unaware of what’s been going on,” Hanzo says after a moment, steepling his fingers in front of him as he chooses his words. “I understand you have spent most of your life under deep cover, and that it has affected you deeply. However, I will not lie and say it was not hurtful to be abandoned so after we shared intimacy. I am not in the habit of one night stands.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jesse repeats, and something in his voice cracks, and it makes Hanzo’s heart ache with sympathy. “I ain’t...I ain’t making excuses. I was in the wrong. But if you’re willing, I want to make it up to you.”

 

Jesse reaches out, takes Hanzo’s hands in his. His gun calluses are rough, but he is so gentle, as if he is holding something precious. Hanzo looks into his sad, soulful eyes, and knows he cannot resist them. 

 

“I want to learn how to be me, with you,” he says softly, and Hanzo swallows hard. This close he can see the grey in Jesse’s eyes, deep and dark, like storm clouds. 

 

“I would like that,” Hanzo says softly, and he watches joy flood those somber eyes. “But, if we are to make this work, we must be honest with each other. With how we are feeling.”

 

Jesse nods, raising his hand to cup Hanzo’s cheek. “I can do that.”

 


End file.
